Living In The Lion's Mouth
by BrokenForTheOrdinary
Summary: Life had been good... life had been happy... but the problems are coming, Mr. Wonka... do you have the ability to face them? Can you really be that strong?
1. Bloody Letters

**A/N:** Well, here it is… my second CatCF fic. I think I've mentioned the first is in the garbage. It was terrible, really. (sigh) Anyway… On to better and brighter things. The legal stuff! Yay! Now that you think I'm crazy let's get it over with… I don't own Charlie, I don't own Wonka… I don't own the idea… I just mess around with it and make silly childhood wishes. But hey, nothing is impossible, right? As for this story itself, the title was taken from Christian hit "Lion" by Rebecca St. James, along with many of the chapter titles, more to come on that later. On with the tour! Oh yes, rating for violence (your definition of graphic is yours, I don't think its as bad as some I've read) in the first chapter, other than that, it's pretty clean. NOW we're ready to begin…

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He seldom went out anymore. Even with Mr. Wonka, it was rare that they set out on the streets. In the year he had been at the factory with Mr. Wonka, they left (with much sweet-talking from Charlie) maybe once a month… But today Mr. Wonka had proved to busy to wander the city with Charlie. The eccentric inventor gladly sent his pestering young heir on the way to town with a few bills (his mother exchanged them for coins at the large iron gates) and a cheerful reminder to put on his new pair of deep purple thick woolen boots. Charlie accepted a kiss from his mother with a large grin and then set off into the cold day.

The snow was crunching beneath Charlie's feet as he scanned the shops that lined the small streets of the city. The brick red buildings were dusted with snow, making them look like gingerbread houses, sans all the candy, of course. From where he was standing he could see the field where his house had been, and even a few of the remains of it's existence before Mr. Wonka had taken them into the factory and placed them in a new (though almost identical) house in the Chocolate Room.

The school house had been renovated, now sporting a new play area and several basketball hoops, though they were temporarily out of service because of the snow and ice. He could see through the lighted windows, the old chalkboard and the old desks. He could almost smell the chalk from math, the stench of his chemistry experiments… Smiling to himself, Charlie found his desk in the corner and allowed himself to remember the days he used to live in.

As he walked down the street, the people passing him smiled and waved, anxious to know this boy who had become instantly famous in the small town. And that was only because of the ticket! When they found out the real prize… Charlie could only imagine! People would always want to be friends with him, because he was the heir to the factory. He would, undoubtedly, become a public icon just as Mr. Wonka was… yet he and Mr. Wonka did not dwell on such things, because they would face these problems when they came. For now, Mr. Wonka insisted the Charlie learn… learn and be a child.

A gaggle of noise took Charlie out of his thoughts and he followed the sound across the narrow road where Bill's candy shop was packed with children. The large man was smiling and handing out candy after candy. Charlie saw several children buy handfuls of Wonka's candies and run out. Things are good, Charlie concluded as he turned towards the familiar shop, intending to drop in on the candy man that had given him his future. He was halfway across the street when from behind him he heard the voice of a boy….

"Hey Bucket! Where are you going?" Charlie sighed, his breath escaping in a small cloud of mist and heat.

"William." Charlie said kindly, turning to face a group of children he had gone to school with. "John, David, Bridges." He mentioned each by name, attempting to be civil.

"Where's your mysterious Mr. Wonka?" The one called John said harshly, sending a rock flying towards Charlie with the tip of his toe. Charlie evaded it and then shook his head in mock carelessness that was covering his disgust.

"We've seen you walking with him! And we know you know where he is!" David chirped.

"Why do you care?" He said defensively. Mr. Wonka had taught him to be kind, but Charlie would not accept the games he knew these boys would play. "He's at work."

A few of the boys barked laughter and then glanced around at the street. It was suddenly, eerily, deserted. "We just wanted to know…" William started as he advanced on Charlie, "If the _magnificent Chocolatier_ would be around to save you."

The first punch sent Charlie towards the ground, spewing blood from his mouth. The boys surrounded him in all directions, rocks and fists flying. Charlie attempted to fight back, but ended up shielding his face from the blows. They muttered things like 'idiot', 'dunce', and 'bastard'. Bridges said terrible things of him and Mr. Wonka, pulling Charlie up off the ground and forcing him into the wall. The brick scraped the skin from Charlie's face, pulling blood from the veins in his body like a magnet.

As Charlie felt that he could fight no more, he cried. John and David cackled and snapped him with sticks and bricks on the backside, causing Charlie to cry out in anguish. They stomped on him, they spit on him, they kicked him in the side, and still the street was empty.

William final called off his hounds, sending them out of the street and back to their houses. The three boys ran off laughing and telling crude jokes. Charlie did not understand. Why were they being so cruel?

He lay motionless against the wall, afraid to move. The cold snow melted into his clothes and Charlie shivered. William was the only one remaining, pacing up and down beside his victim. Soon William stopped pacing, stooped down, and tore the boots off of Charlie's feet. The air rushed up his pants legs and through his body, Charlie shivered again. But the cold did not last long; it was replaced by a sense of total fear as he heard a knife blade lock into place. Using his foot, William spun Charlie onto his back and bent down. "Tsk, tsk, tsk…" William mocked. "I bet you think you've grown up… out of this piss hole of a town. Living in the factory and having it all." There was anger in his eyes that contrasted the calmness of his voice.

"I don't think that at all… I was lucky, that's all…"

"SHUT UP!" William bellowed, "Don't make me kill you, all right Charlie?" He brandished the knife again and smiled a sickly sweet smile. "I just want you to remember the dirt poor shack you came from…" He began to form, in his free hand, a ball of snow. Packing it tightly, he tossed it in the air a few times and continued in his soft spoken manner. "We could have been great friends, Bucket. We could have done great things together… but you and your 'luck'… you and your God-damned apple picking luck!"

In a sudden motion he plunged the snow ball into Charlie's mouth, causing him to kick and sputter, only to gasp as the knife pierced his chest. Charlie fought and screamed, but William held his mouth closed firmly. There was no choice, Charlie coughed and spit, tears streaming down his face as William carved a bloody 'W' into Charlie's upper chest.

William removed his hand from Charlie's mouth, but no screams escaped the beaten boy. With a smirk of satisfaction, William wiped his blade on Charlie's cheeks, leaving streaks of blood under his eyes and across his mouth.

"It really is a shame… isn't it? Such a pitiful excuse for a creature…" William shook his head and pocketed his knife. He turned to leave and then mumbled under his breath, "Almost forgot…" A large wad of spit landed on Charlie's face and then… as quickly as he had come…

William left, leaving a cold, shivering Charlie Bucket deep in the snow. Around him it was tinged red and yellow and brown, but in his pain Charlie did not care. Not only did his body hurt but his heart hurt… It was the strangest feeling.

The darkness was closing around the buildings. He should have been back at the factory by now, but he did not have the strength to get up. He wondered if they would look for him, or would they just wait for him to return? The sun set quickly, unnervingly quickly. The skies clouded over and the thunder rolled. In the distance, lightening bolted, illuminating the turrets of the great factory Charlie now called home.

But little Charlie Bucket was not hurrying home, or pulling out his umbrella… Charlie Bucket was crying. And as the tears fell past his face, off the tip of his nose, and into the snow beside him, it began to rain a cold, sharp rain that pierced his skin and chilled his bones.

And because of the lightening and the thunder and the rain and the snow… no one could hear the heir to the greatest chocolate factory in the world… so alone and unheard, scared, terrorized, bleeding, and crying… Charlie Bucket drifted into unconsciousness.

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**Author's Thoughts**: Well, that was incredibly depressing (and incredibly short for my liking... but I didn't want to get into TOO much detail, you see)… but I promise it was not for nothing… Things will look up for Charlie in the next chapter… and be prepared for the introduction of an incredible man… Mr. Willy Wonka! This time without any burning puppets or catchy little tunes, sorry folks

**Those things I threw in that I feel are of some importance to mention –  
**The Boots – Maybe a symbol here? I'll let you think about it… Let me know what you think  
Charlie's town/schoolhouse/etc. – Just what I thought it would look like, and how I thought people would treat him after he found the ticket.  
The weather – I'm thinking its February, cold, raining… snowy… icy… (shivers) Ew.

**Final reviews?** Love it, hate it? I don't care, just please review. Flames are accepted (but not to be confused with appreciated)… I have a fire extinguisher ready, trust me!


	2. Not A Dream I'm Living

**A/N:** Chapter two! YAY! Willy Wonka will appear, as promised… and, let's see… nothing else I can think of at the moment. Everything but rating still applies! More at the bottom, about things that if I told you now would ruin the entire story! (Or at _least_ this chapter.)

_

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They were ushered into the factory by the elusive Willy Wonka, glancing around at the strange lands they were entering. The Chocolate room…_

_Charlie gaped in amazement as they surveyed the large trees and fields that surrounded a large chocolate river which was fed by a pounding waterfall of pure chocolate. The young boy shook his head and picked up a piece of grass, sucking it thoughtfully and jumping in amazement as he realized that it was melting in his mouth, just like sugar. This grass _was_ sugar! Charlie smiled and picked another out of the field. _

_"Hey!" Came the voice of a very childlike Veruca Salt. "What is that boy doing here?" Charlie turned on his heel to find that she was pointing at him, with an accusing look on her face. _

_"Yeah! He's not supposed to be in here! He didn't find a golden ticket…" Violet protested, closing in on Charlie. "He's a cheat!!!!" _

_"Mr. Wonka! Mr. Wonka!" Mike TeaVee cried at the Chocolatier from across the room. "There's a boy in here that's not supposed to be!!!!" _

_Charlie looked at the four children in horror as they backed him towards the back of the river. _

_"You're a cheat!!!" Violet Beauregarde chanted as she advanced, and soon the other children were doing the same. Charlie gasped, trying to plead his case._

_"No! I found the ticket… I was the last one! The fifth!" _

_"There were only four tickets! You're a liar too!" Violet added to the fire… Charlie continued his retreat. _

_The grass was slick, the bank was smooth… Charlie slipped. "No!" He screamed…tears falling from his deep brown eyes as he fell under the chocolate. _

_"Charlie!" The voice came from across eternity, to the boy's ears. He knew it was the voice of Willy Wonka. _

_He could almost hear the cane… he could almost see the man in his plum red coat and funny hat. Sputtering from the chocolate, Charlie tried to scream and found that he could not. _

_"Charlie!!!!" The voice was now frantic. "Whangdoodles, Charlie… where are you? You just need to come home, kay?" The distressed Wonka called out, grasping Charlie's attention. All of the other nasty children's noises seemed to disappear. _

_"Home?" Charlie questioned to no one, glancing around for the Wonka. On his next time out of the spinning chocolate he screamed – "Mr. Wonka!" Everyone froze; even time itself seemed to stop. "Mr. Wonka?" Charlie said faintly, feeling him self slip under the warm chocolate yet again. _

_"Charlie…" The boy heard the footsteps, and then he felt himself being lifted… from the chocolate, from the river… by the pipe? No… _

_"Talk to me Charlie… Come home Charlie! Come on…" _

Charlie cracked his eyes into slits, and when he did so he could see that the world around him was beginning to grow light. Dawn was approaching. The snow was frozen near his legs and the rain had soaked his clothes through. There was a cold, slick feeling on his chest. Suddenly the events of the night flooded the young boy's mind. It was blood; it was fear… it was terror. Charlie began to breath heavily, his pupils dilating as his heart raced. Tears began falling from his eyes and he closed them again just to make the pain go away.

Suddenly a hand brushed away his tears, a smooth, rubber hand that was amazingly warm. Charlie whimpered in fear and more tears fell along his cheek line. "Charlie…?" To the whisper of his voice, Charlie dared to open his eyes… just one… and only slightly. The figure he saw before him was that of Willy Wonka, looking Wonkaish as ever in a deep plum coat and black trousers, with his plum red rubber gloves, one of which was residing on the side of his face. However, one feature was not Wonkaish at all. His face was one of worry and fear. "Come on Charlie…"

The boy opened his eyes slowly, glancing around to see who else was there… There was no one but Mr. Wonka and the empty buildings leaning over them with open eyes and ears. "Mr. Won–" Charlie said, his teeth clattering with every breath and more tears filling his cocoa eyes. He wanted to jump up and envelope himself in the arms of the great chocolate maker, slip himself into the warmth of his mentor; it hurt to badly to move and with every attempt he whimpered in pain.

"Charlie…" Wonka said slowly placing a hand on the boy's forehead. "We'll get you some help, kay?" The skin shivered underneath Wonka's grip.

"I'm s-sorry…" Charlie began to mumble frantically, his hands searching for a strong hold in the snow, but he could find none. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" Tears fell down his cheek bones mixing with blood and dirt and pain to create a river of sorrow that fell into the snow.

A gloved hand took both of his hands and held them tightly. "It's okay… It's over now."

"NO!" Charlie screamed, arching his back against the ground and shooting up quite painfully.

"Charlie!" Wonka shrieked as Charlie moved himself up off the ground, almost levitating.

"No… no… no…" Charlie repeated over and over again, as he fell back into the snow with a sickening thud, shivering and crying. "So cold…" He said suddenly.

Wonka looked around and ran his options over in his head. He could leave Charlie… no, he stopped that thought process right there. There was no way he was leaving this traumatized boy laying in the snow… He could take him with him… again, not the best option… or he could wait it out, wait for one of the Bucket's to come by where Wonka and Charlie were… but that could take hours! Certainly it would only hurt Charlie more.

"Come on… No more crying, please… Charlie… It's only me… kay? I'm going to…" Wonka's voice broke for a moment and Charlie felt an amazing warth fall upon his frame, enveloping him slowly in gentle velvet softness. The scent of chocolate filled his nostrils and put Charlie at some sort of ease. It occurred to Charlie that this was Mr. Wonka's coat. He relaxed into the snow and turned to look at Mr. Wonka.

"Thank you, sir…" He said weakly.

"Whangdoodles Charlie," Wonka began, stroking the boy's soft hair with his hand. "You're still shivering. We need to get you home." His voice was one of true concern and sorrow.

"I'll be f-fine…"

"Not believing it one bit mister!" The man said childishly, trying his hardest to lighten the mood. "We're going to get you home." Slowly and rather unsteadily, Wonka stood up; Charlie grabbed his hand with such vigor that the man yelped and then quieted himself. "It's all right, my dear boy… We're going home."

Wonka braced his mind, it was going to be one of the ickiest things he had ever done… but it was for Charlie! That had to have been his conscience that kicked that part it. It was all for Charlie. Without wasting another moment, the candy man slid his hands under the neck and legs of Charlie Bucket and lifted him into the air, harrumphing as he did so. He was a small boy for his age, and it was easy for him to fit in the space between Wonka's arms.

"We're going home now, Charlie, I'm going to take you there." The last phrase was more for his reassurance than it was for Charlie's.

The boy offered no protest; instead he leaned into the figure of his mentor, savoring the warmth and protection that he found there. "Mr. Wonka…" He mumbled into the deep fabric of his vest and shirt as he began to walk, limping slightly as his cane was more or less useless when he had his arms full…

"Yes Charlie?"

"I'm sor–"

"Hush Charlie…" Wonka said slowly. "You have nothing to be sorry for… silly." The last word came slowly, almost painfully and stuffy. Almost as if Wonka had a frog in his throat, or a piece of chewing gum… either would be pretty bad, Charlie concluded.

"Okay Mr. Wonka." With that Charlie slipped into a light sleep, brought on by pain and exhaustion, as the coat covered him in peace and the words of his mentor filled his brain.

But it's possible that had Charlie not fallen into a slumber at that moment, he could have seen the tears falling on the pale face of the man carrying him… but, it really was better off that Charlie had dozed, for Wonka surely wouldn't have risked cr… _crying_ in front of his heir…

No, that would be a sign of weakness… and if there was one thing Willy Wonka wasn't, it was weak…

He hoped.

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**Author's thoughts:** I figured it would be interesting to explore Willy's reaction to Charlie's pain. How he dealt with a child who clearly needed help, and the way it hurt him inside. It ended up being a good thing, I think. Let's see what you say! On the depression side of it… things will get better… I just didn't want to make the story feel rushed. 

**Those things I threw in that I feel are of some importance to mention –  
**The constant feeling of Charlie not being able to reach Wonka – could it be reoccurring, perhaps a clue to what is to happen in the future?  
The coat! – I loved writing this! It made me feel happy… and it made me wish I had a Wonka coat… or a chocolate bar... (sigh) xD

**Final reviews?** Love it, hate it? I don't care, just please review. Flames are accepted (not to be confused with appreciated)… I have a fire extinguisher ready, trust me!


	3. Just A World of Your Own

**A/N:** Do you realize that once you get past the first few of these, it becomes increasingly difficult to find things to say! Same routine about bottom info, same routine about law… same routine about everything. Enjoy the story!

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It had been a day, or maybe two, Wonka had lost count. He had hobbled through the snow, back to the factory, through the cold gates and into the chocolate room. Mrs. Bucket was waiting at the door of their little cottage, shrieking as the paternal Bucket took the sleeping Charlie into his arms and turned inside the door. He was able to take no more, and he left. Like a coward and a hermit, he ran to his rooms in the uppermost corner of the factory, where he had been sitting ever since on the pale blue couch in the middle of a living room decorated with various shades of blue.

He was sans coat… his shirt, vest, and pants mucked with blood and muddy dry water. His gloves were dirty and yet Wonka had not thought to change them. He really hadn't thought of much in the past two days. Take that back, he hadn't thought of much but Charlie.

The questions had floated in his mind at all hours… Why? Who? It made no sense to Wonka, but yet… in the back of his mind, it did. He knew that children could be mean, but it was still mind-boggling to the Chocolatier that one or more would hurt Charlie – his heir! – so badly.

On the dawn of the third day, Wonka decided he had done enough hiding… thinking, he corrected. He had done enough _thinking_. He changed his shirt, vest, and trousers, selecting a medium indigo of each, along with a medium indigo coat which he paired with a pair of dull lime green gloves and a top hat with a band of the same color. Standing in front of the mirror, Wonka fastened his golden 'W' to his shirt before running a thin hand over his pale complexion.

With a sigh Wonka turned away from his reflection in an angry sort of way. He grabbed his cane and spun it lightly on his fingers before placing it tip down on the ground. He wondered for a moment if he should bring anything to Charlie… but what could it be? "Chocolate!" He exclaimed suddenly, the first loud noise his voice had made in three days, it made him jump. Of course this was the logical gift; Charlie was, after all, the heir tohis chocolate factory. After a quick trip back to the bedroom, Wonka emerged with a box of his personal favorite (The Whipple-Scrumptious Fudge Mallow Delight) and smiled despite of the heaviness of the circumstances and the situation. He mumbled to himself (something about being 'ready to boogie)' as he placed a hand on the door and turned the knob.

The cottage had always been, well, quaint? Was that the word…? No, maybe it was welcoming? Either way, it didn't lose its charm when it was 'relocated' to the large factory. Wonka noticed this as he walked across the field of swudge, nearing the Bucket home. The chocolate was gripped tightly in his left hand and in his right was his cane. At the door he rapped sharply on the wooden slats with the tip of his fist (and a little of the chocolate, unfortunately) and waited for Mrs. Bucket.

"Oh Willy!" She said softly, opening the door and ushering him into her home. "It's so good to see you…" But the Chocolatier noticed that she ended the phrase with a small sigh, almost inaudible, but he noticed.

"It's good to see you too…" He started quietly. He really didn't mind Charlie's family… but, it was still rather uncomfortable to speak to them fondly. Wonka decided it was best to jump right to the point and avoid anything uncomfortable at the moment… it might not have created a positive result. He shuddered and then smiled a small, false smile. "I was wondering if I might see Charlie?"

Mrs. Bucket laughed and then shook her head. "You needn't ask, Willy, he's been asking about you every ten minutes for the past two days! He would have come to get you but..." She turned her head away and scratched her eyes before sniffing loudly and then turning back. "Sorry dear… he's right down the hall, in our room. Go right in… He'll be glad to see you." She pointed down the small wooden hall, to a door on the right that was hanging crooked on its hinges before turning her attention to a loaf of bread that she was slicing.

"Thank you, ma'am." He mumbled already heading towards the lopsided door. Stopping outside of it, he breathed in deeply and released it slowly before entering.

There in the bed, covered by an ancient patchwork quilt and propped on about four down feather ash-grey pillows, lay Charlie Bucket. Bruises had painted a majority of his face an ugly color of purplish blue, his forehead and cheeks were scabbed and an awful dark crimson from the clotted blood, but perhaps the worse was that underneath Charlie's white undershirt, Wonka could see a bloody red line that had been sliced into the boys flesh. A line that formed a perfect 'W' on his chest. Wonka let loose and audible gasp and then gripped his hand to his mouth to silence it.

Charlie stirred, looking up at Mr. Wonka. He smiled softly and genuinely. Wonka walked over slowly and sat, with some caution, on the side of the bed. After a few timid (and somewhat tense) moments, he placed the box of chocolate bars on Charlie's lap. "I thought you might need it, to you, know… make you feel… peppy!" Wonka threw his hands out in a small firework gesture.

"Thank you, sir…" Charlie commented, placing the chocolate on the nightstand and letting his hand linger on the box for a moment, as if it was a treasure that brought back good memories.

"How are you feeling?" Wonka asked suddenly, shifting on the bed to look at Charlie fully. "Did I wake you?" _I was worried about you…_That one he just couldn't find himself the words to say correctly. It would only sound weird.

Charlie looked at his mentor for a moment, staring at him with his large cocoa eyes. "No…" He said finally. "I wasn't sleeping."

"It looked like –" Wonka began, but Charlie cut him off.

"I thought you were Mum. I didn't think you would come see me." He said before he could catch himself. He looked at Wonka with sadness in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wonka, I didn't mean to –"

"Hush Charlie… I know what you meant." It was amazing that a child would be able to read him so quickly. "My question then becomes, why would you pretend to sleep if it was your Mum?" Charlie looked away, brushing a tear frantically from his face. Wonka stared at him a moment, confused, and then he began quickly, as he often did when he was nervous. "Fiddlesticks, Charlie, please don't cry, okay? If I upset you, let me know. I didn't mean to." He looked back at the boy only to find more tears rolling down his cheeks. "Now Charlie!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wonka… I'm just…" He shook his head and then sighed heavily.

"What?"

"I'm just… so… tired." He admitted finally, his eyes darting towards the lopsided door, making sure the Bucket's weren't listening in.

"Well then you _should_ sleep, silly. When you're tired you sleep!" He placed his hands on the side of his face prayerfully and did a small sleeping gesture. "Didn't you know that from that schooling they give you everyday?" Wonka laughed his short laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

"I know that!" Charlie said suddenly angry. The tears rolling down his cheeks only highlighted the redness of the parts of his face that were not covered with bruises. His mentor's attempts at mood lightening had failed… "I do know that, Mr. Wonka. And I promise you, if I _could_ sleep I _would_!" Make that failed miserably.

Wonka was taken aback at the sudden outburst… but, could he really blame Charlie? It was hard to imagine what was running through his mind at the moment. Wonka decided it best to let this particular subject drop.

Charlie, however, had seen the startled look on Wonka's face and immediately regretted his harsh tone. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wonka…" Charlie said yet again. "I shouldn't snap at you because of my prob –" He was cut off by the gloved hand of the Chocolatier, wiping his tears away ever so gently.

"I don't want to hear "I'm Sorry", Charlie." He let his hand linger in an unexpected fatherly manner before attempting to pull it away. Charlie caught it quickly and even with his frail grip, held on tightly.

"Can I tell you something, Mr. Wonka? Something that you can't tell my parents…" Slightly stunned that Charlie wished to confide in him and not his parents… let's face it, he wasn't the _most_ sociable person in the factory, but Wonka nodded softly and tipped his head in a 'listening' fashion. "I haven't slept…" Boy this boy beat around the bush, Wonka thought… "Since you brought me back, that is. I woke up when you left, and I haven't slept since. I haven't eaten… I just stuff the food under the bed –"

"That would be why it smells like fish in here…" Wonka said suddenly, scrunching his nose and then smiling sheepishly, "Sorry, go on…"

"And I pretend to be asleep because Mum would worry if she knew… and that's the last thing she needs to do so I just can't tell her! I can't tell her, Mr. Wonka, I'm scared." The last words were said in the smallest voice Wonka had ever heard. Soft and frightened, but with the urgency that they needed to be said… He grasped Charlie's hand and pulled himself closer to his heir.

"Charlie…" Wonka started, unsure of how to begin, unsure of even what to say. "What are you scared of?" He concluded, though he had to admit it was the coward's way out. His heart felt that he should have been able to produce a long meaningful conversation, but all he could come up with was a question… one measly question.

But the boy didn't seem to mind. He jumped on the opportunity to discuss his problem, turning to Wonka and breathing deeply. His mouth opened several times as if he was unsure of what to say. "I – I…" He began, but then shook his head. It was not reasonable to go and tell such things to people such as Mr. Wonka. He was, after all, not one for any type of fondness. Charlie sighed. "Never mind." He finished, looking away embarrassed.

"Why Charlie you said nothing… nothing that I could hear anyway… were you speaking a new language? Amazing if you were!" Wonka laughed and looked at Charlie, who had fresh tears running down his face. _Fudge, this kid leaks more than a watery whipple wad._ "Maybe…" He reached out and lightly touched Charlie's chin, drawing the child around to face him. His tone was suddenly serious. "Maybe you're scared that something else is going to happen to you? That someone else is going to hurt you? Maybe that's why your scared Charlie… maybe you just don't feel exactly safe?" Charlie looked at Wonka and nodded quickly and childlike.

Wonka bit the bottom of his lip and then smiled knowingly. "But Charlie… you needn't be afraid."

"Why do you say that Mr. Wonka?" Charlie said, disbelief filling his voice. Mr. Wonka, however magical he was, couldn't change something with just a few words.

"Because your mum and dad are here, silly. They won't let anyone hurt you again. And…" He paused a moment, questioning whether or not he ought to continue.

"And?" Charlie prompted, running a finger over the smooth rubber of Wonka's glove, trying not to make eye contact with him. "And what else, Mr. Wonka?"

"I'm here Charlie…" He said in a soft voice, a twinkle growing in the deep purple orbs of his eyes. "And I tell you, my dear boy… as long as I live, as long as this factory is here, as long as the Oompa-Loompa's keep eating cocoa beans…" He smiled at the last statement; Charlie even managed a weak laugh. "I'm never ever ever ever gonna let anyone hurt you again, kay?"

Charlie looked Wonka in the eye, biting his lip. "Promise?" He said finally.

"With all my heart, I promise."

Unexpectedly, Charlie threw his arms around the waist of Wonka, and after the initial shock, Wonka returned the gesture and held it. "Never Charlie… and you can take that to the bank!"

"Thank you Mr. Wonka…" He mumbled into the indigo folds of Wonka's coat. "You're amazing…"

"And you are a sleepy little boy…" Wonka said, attempting to pull out of Charlie's embrace, but finding it difficult. Eventually he had released Charlie and scooted towards the end of the bed, smiling softly. "A very sleepy little boy."

"Wait… Mr. Wonka…" Charlie said suddenly.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think… maybe, just for now… maybe you could stay?" Charlie didn't add that he wanted Mr. Wonka to stay, that he would feel _safe_ if Mr. Wonka would stay… but it seemed that the man already knew it and he nodded.

"Of course I can Charlie… but just this once." He walked back over to the bed and sat down beside Charlie, who quickly wrapped his arms around the waist of his mentor and sighed sleepily into the fabric of his coat. Wonka placed a hand on Charlie's blonde hair and stroked it unknowingly.

"Thank you Mr. Wonka…"

"None of that!" Wonka said slowly. The Chocolatier felt his eyes getting heavy, and it was then he realized that he, like Charlie, had been without sleep for several days (if not a week, but he didn't really want to talk about that part) "You should sleep now, my dear boy. Sleep and do try to dream… who knows what you'll think of… possibly something amazing. Like candy birds that molt sugar feathers, or…" He yawned kindly, closing his eyes. "Or hats that you can eat… or..." Another yawn, "Chocolate that changes your eye color… or…" Wonka smiled to himself and yawned yet again. "You obviously get the idea…"

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**Author's Thoughts:** Phew! That was a long one (nearly twice the length of my first chapters, and you can take that one to the bank!)… but I just couldn't find a place that would break it properly but… hey! You've already read it have you not? I loved the entire idea of this chapter, of Wonka comforting Charlie because he found comfort in no one else. And the whole bit about Wonka promising to look after Charlie warmed my heart. I hope I receive the same reaction from you! Let me know! 

**Those things I threw in that I feel are of some importance to mention –  
**Candy birds that molt sugar feathers, hats that you can eat, Chocolate that changes your eye color – just some of my own thoughts on good candy… forgive me if they already exist! XD  
The foreshadowing bug has me again! – Wonka not sleeping? Sounds like a plot opener to me! dum dum dum  
The Bloody 'W' – Yea… that one… that I prefer not to mention. Will it play into the story? It better because the thought of it makes me want to cry for Charlie… Kidding! Don't shoot me! It will come in down the road… I can't tell you how far but it will!

**Look A Plea for HELP! -** Chapter Titles – ARE TERRIBLE! I've just never been _good_ at that sort of thing… if you have a suggestion let me hear them!!!!

**Final reviews?** Love it, hate it? I don't care, just please review. Flames are accepted (not to be confused with appreciated)… I have a fire extinguisher ready, trust me!


	4. The Love of A Mother

**A/N: **I'm sorry this took forever to get up... you see, I ran into this little thing called writer's block that made everything I wrote for this sound insanely insane. I finally had to trash and rewrite the entire chapter, and this is the result. More info at the bottom! Enjoy!

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When he awoke, Wonka was immediately alarmed by the strange surroundings. The walls were of wood and were musky and brown, nothing like the gentle reds and oranges of his bedroom. He felt the quilt beneath him with a shaking, bony hand… it was not the scarlet and gold fabric of his own bed. This was definitely beginning to worry the Chocolatier… but it was then that he felt the deep breathing lump beside him. He knew instantly where he was. "Charlie…" Wonka whispered softly, looking down at the boy and smiling.

"At least he's sleeping now," Came a feminine voice from the door way. Wonka jumped. "I'm sorry Willy; I didn't mean to startle you." Mrs. Bucket said, wiping her hands on the tea towel across her apron. "Come on out, I have some fresh soup ready for late lunch if you would like. You look like you haven't eaten in days."

Wonka laughed nervously as he stood up. He gently placed Charlie back against the pillows, covering him with the blankets up to his chin. The boy still slumbered peacefully. "Yes please." He said simply, turning towards the door and following Charlie's mother to the kitchen.

At the wooden table, Wonka sat down between Grandma Georgina and Grandma Josephine, his normal place. Both of them looked at him with large twinkling eyes and then turned towards their soup. They always did that… it was just weird. Wonka had concluded long ago that it was just an old person thing… an old female person thing, because he was sure that Grandpa Joe and Grandpa George never did it.

"What are you thinking about, Mr. Wonka?" Joe asked him between bites of soup. "If you stare any harder at your soup you'll break the bowl." Wonka looked up and then smiled a large, nervous smile, giggled, and then took a rather large bite of soup. It ran in small rivers down the back of his throat, its meaty stock, mixed with bits of carrots, peas, and beans, was hearty and filled his stomach. Wonka had often thought of adding this to a piece of his three-course-gum… but, he could never do it justice.

Dinner continued much like that, with Wonka keeping his head down and eating. Mrs. Bucket was to family cooking what he was to chocolate Wonka decided, slipping his bowl away empty. The meals here were always warm, tender, and succulent, anything it should have been it was, and there was certainly Mrs. Bucket to thank for that. While Grandpa Joe and Grandma Josephine finished their meals, the other to grandparents went to bed to fall off to sleep (yet again) and Wonka listened to Mrs. Bucket hum a mindless, yet oddly familiar, tune.

He tired to concentrate on its simple melody for a few moments, and then he realized just why it sounded so familiar…

_The woman was humming a small tune as she worked in a quaint kitchen that had been built circa 1940. Her sepia hair ran in long straight lines down her neck to her shoulders, stopping about mid back. Beside her a small child of only five laughed as the woman, his mother, took a delicate finger and placed a line of dark colored batter along the boy's nose._

_He scrunched his nose and then shook his head, taking a finger and wiping the batter off. His mother laughed and then opened a package of chocolate chips and let him dump them into the batter. Together they poured the thick concoction into a metal pan and then the boy smoothed it out with a spatula. _

_When the mother had placed the pan safely in the oven, she returned to her son and bent down to his level, holding the large metal bowl and the spatula. "Are you ready for the best part, Willy?" The boy looked at her questioningly and then nodded enthusiastically, his shorter sepia hair bouncing up and down on his head. _

_"Yes mama…" She laughed a crystal laugh and her cocoa eyes sparked with excitement as she handed him the spatula, covered with splotches of the chocolate batter. He only held it and looked at it questioningly. _

_"Go on… like this." She ran a finger through the bowl and then popped it in her mouth. The boy imitated her and his eyes lit up as he tasted the batter. "See! I told you it was the best part. Come on… I think we can finish this up, don't you?" _

_The boy did not reply, for he was busy sucking on his finger which was tinted with the brown of the batter. She laughed yet again and then set down on a chair at the kitchen table. Willy scrambled over and sat on her lap and she hugged him tightly. _

_"Isn't it wonderful? Just imagine what it will taste like…" _

_"WHAT do you think you're doing?!" A booming voice flew towards them from the kitchen entrance. The man standing there looked intimidating in his bright white coat. His eyes were deep blue and his hair a snow white, but the look on his face was one of complete anger. _

_"Papa!" Willy said, smiling up with his teeth showing exactly what he had been doing. They were covered in a dark brown chocolate. The man only looked at him with hatred in his eyes and then snatched the spatula from him. _

_"Go! Brush your teeth! I'll talk with you later!!!" _

_"Oh, Wilbur… he was just…" The woman pleaded with him, holding Willy's arms with her soft hand. _

_"GO WILLY!" The boy's father bellowed, pointing up the steps of the small house. "NOW!" Scared silly, the boy scampered up the stairs, tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes._

_In the upstairs bathroom, Willy brushed his teeth. He spat out furiously and then turned off the water, going to sit on the top step where he could see, sort of, into the kitchen. _

_"What did you think you were doing, Annie?" His father's voice said harshly. "He's going to look like every other child I see if you keep this up!" On the stairs, Willy looked down at his shoes. It was his entire fault… Willy thought. _

_"Heavens Wilbur… he's a child! Let him…" But his mother's velvet voice was cut off by the smashing of a glass dish as the pan and bowl hit the side of the wall. Willy winced. "Wilbur! What's the matter with you?" _

_"I don't want to hear it from you, Annie. He's my son too!" Wilbur said slicing through the air with his crisp voice. _

_"Maybe you should be around…" _

Wonka shook his head, trying to erase the sound of her voice from his mind; Mrs. Bucket had turned to face him from the sink, where water was running sans destination. "Willy? Are you all right? You were mumbling… You look faint." He looked up his forehead furrowing as he thought about what had just happened. He smiled a small genuine smile and then nodded.

"I'm all right… I was just…" He paused a moment and then caught Mrs. Bucket's eyes. "Think –"

"Charlie!" Mrs. Bucket cut across the man's words loudly, and confused, Wonka turned to look at the small hall way leading to the bedroom. In between the wooden walls stood Charlie Bucket, dressed in shorts and his white undershirt. His face was creased from sleep, but his eyes were incredibly bright. "What do you think you're doing out of bed, young man?" She asked, rushing over towards him and picking at his shirt and trying to turn him back to the bedroom. It was a very flustering moment, until Charlie's voice could be heard over his mother's worried mumbling.

"Mum… I'm fine." She stopped and stood up, looking at her son in the strangest way. "I just needed to get up. I'm feeling much better, really…" He placed a hand on hers and then moved over to the table, sitting down and turning to look at Willy. He smiled softly and Mr. Wonka returned the smile heartily.

"Oh all right then…" Mrs. Bucket said, walking, semi-stunned, back to the kitchen sink. "Can I fix you some soup, Charlie? Are you hungry?"

"Mrs. Bucket." Mr. Wonka cut in, standing up and straightening his coat. "I thank you for the wonderful dinner but," He pulled his pocket watch from its chain and opened its golden lid tenderly. "I really must be going. There's work to be done." He walked over to the door and placed a hand on its knob.

"Can I go with him, Mum?" Charlie asked his mother.

"I won't have it, Charlie. You've only just woken up… you haven't eaten… and you certainly…"

"Please Mum…"

"Now Charlie… Listen to your mom." Wonka this time.

"Oh Mum, I promise I'm feeling better." He stood up and walked back and forth, as if trying to demonstrate something unseen. "I'm not tired or hungry or sick or anything."

"Honestly Charlie! You've only…"

"Oh please just let me go out! It's only in the factory after all… and I'll stay with Mr. Wonka the whole time. I promise!" Wonka could honestly say that he had never seen Charlie put up such a fight about something; he was, in fact, quite passive when it came to most things.

Mrs. Bucket was unsure about saddling the Chocolatier with the responsibility of look after an ailing twelve year old boy – _her_ ailing twelve year old boy, no less. The thought of them scampering around the factory all afternoon worried her the most. What if it was dangerous? Her pretty face contorted into a look of fear. "What if you get hurt again?" She said in an incredibly small voice. She sniffed loudly and turned towards the sink, drying her eyes on a towel.

"Now Mum… don't get upset. I was only asking. I'm sorry." Charlie's voice sounded hurt and distressed. "I'm sorry Mum."

There was a long silence while Mrs. Bucket turned the towel over in her hands again and again. Mr. Wonka stood by the door, his eyes focused intently on the boy and flashing ever so often to the woman at the sink.

"I don't know, what do you think, Willy?" Mrs. Bucket asked Wonka.

"Me?" He pointed a hand at himself and then shook his head. "I don't think I have a place in this!"

"Of course you do!" Mrs. Bucket spoke up, trying to get an answer out of the man. Charlie looked at his mentor with a tiny flicker of hope in his cocoa eyes. "It's your factory… what do you think?"

"Well you're quite right it is my factory. But he's _your_ little boy! He should listen to you!" Charlie's eyes fell and so did his small smile. Wonka immediately felt terrible, what was he thinking? "However, I don't see how it could hurt to let young Charlie out of the house for a little while." Charlie's mother sighed and then nodded.

"Go get dressed! Dress warmly now!" Mrs. Bucket relented. Charlie smiled and ran to his mother and embraced her. She wrapped her arms around him gingerly and took a moment to hold him there, her child that was safe. She said a small prayer that things would remain that way.

Charlie eventually wiggled his way out of his mother's embrace, giggling as he said, "Thanks Mum! You're the best." He then ran off to his room, smiling all the way.

The two adults stood in silence for a few moments before Wonka spoke up. "I'll look after him, you don't need to worry about him. He'll be fine."

The boy emerged from the back room, dressed in a plum red sweater and a pair of black slacks. They had been a gift from Mr. Wonka about two weeks after Charlie's family moved in. The pants were of the softest woven texture, not at all scratchy or itchy or uncomfortable, and the sweater was as soft as velvet, only not as delicate. It was comfortable, like the pants, but warm too. It was one of the finest things he had ever owned, and Charlie would admit that to anyone.

"Why! Don't you look handsome?" Mrs. Bucket exclaimed, smiling at her son. "Both of you." The woman noted, looking at Wonka and nodding her head slightly. He smiled sheepishly and then picked up his cane that was lying near the door.

"Well Charlie, whaddya think? I think we ought to be off! There is far too much to do!" Wonka turned the door knob and opened it stepping out into the brisk meadow of swudge grass.

Mrs. Bucket ushered Charlie over to the door of their home, fussing with his hair and stopping when he wrapped his arms around her waist. "I'll be fine Mum. I promise."

She swallowed hard and then pulled her son back by his shoulders. "I know you will darling… now go have fun!" She playfully shooed him away and Charlie raced to join Mr. Wonka, who was making his way across the field. She couldn't help but laugh at how comfortable they looked together. Mr. Wonka, chatting away as he walked, every step punctuated by the tapping of his cane against the edible landscape, and Charlie, leaning intently towards Mr. Wonka, listening to his every word with a true interest.

They were great for each other… Mrs. Bucket knew that, and she also knew that there was, at the moment, no one else she would trust her child with… no one but that magnificent, kind man who had so gratefully taken the entire family into his home. She looked up again to find that both of the boys had vanished into farther parts of the factory, those parts blocked from her view.

"I know he'll take care of you."

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**Author's Thoughts**: Hmm... I liked that chapter, though it was pretty much uneventful. Seriously... nothing happened, but I was happy at the overall effect. I do tend to picture Charlie's mother as a bit of a worry-wart, so when I write I think I write her that way... always fussing and doting over her only son.

**Those things I threw in that I feel are of some importance to mention: **  
The Flashback and all associated with it: I have no idea when Willy's mother left him, or how she left. Since I said I wouldn't use any none-canon characters I can't really explore her in detail, so I think a flashback here and there is okay. I picture her as a loving woman, youthful and entergetic. I think Willy would have her eyes, and her warm heart. His father, on the other hand... I picture him as someone who doesn't know how to love. To me, he was a very, very mean man... and even though he finally did reconcile with Willy (the final scenes of the moive) I don't think that Willy would be able to let the years of abandonment, hatred, and pain he felt go so quickly. That's all I have to say.

**To My Reviewers So Far: **ChocolateCaribbean & Lawks... thank you muchos! hugs you and hands you chocolate of the finest quality I really must say it helps me along to get great, in depth reviews like yours. They make me feel all happy. I'm glad you like this story, and I want you to know how much I value your opinion. Thanks again!

**Final Reviews? **Love it, hate it? I don't care, just please review. Flames are accepted (not to be confused with appreciated)… I have a fire extinguisher ready, trust me!


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